


Monster under the Sheets

by WESTAGE



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddles, Cuddling, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, bed, jim just wants a hug, johniarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 01:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9212540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WESTAGE/pseuds/WESTAGE
Summary: Jim Moriarty has needs. One of those needs include cuddling with John Watson.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is my contribution to our very small johniarty fandom!! rare pairs need more fics 2k17

John Watson had grown used to this;

The soft breathing against his back, the long, lanky arms covered in silky fabric that slid over him in a wary fashion, and the even longer legs which would quietly tangle and untangle themselves with his until they found a comfortable position, which was usually right against his thighs.

John Watson had grown to accept this, and keep incredibly calm all the way through this little event that took place every other night or so. 

"Another nightmare?" he would hum to Sherlock as soon as he felt the familiar shifting of his bedsheets. He was having more and more of them since the pool incident with Moriarty, and so was John, but unlike Sherlock, John was used to nightmares. Sherlock usually would not reply to his questions. Sometimes, after an exceptionally bad one, he would groan. It didn't matter. All he knew was that Sherlock needed him, and John was determined to be there for him, for his best friend. And he enjoyed it, being able to turn around and feel Sherlock against his chest, slowly tracing his fingers through thick brown curls, breathing, feeling.

It was a routine, and John had no intention of breaking it.

-

It was exceptionally late one evening when Sherlock's phone rang, buzzing the pair out of their usual exceptionally late evening routine, which consisted of John forcefully trying to convince Sherlock to have dinner. It was another case that seemed to be troubling all of Scotland Yard, and Greg wanted Sherlock and John to look into it. The usual. But John yawned and slumped down on the sofa, deciding not to go. The brunette shuffled around, mentioning how it would be dangerous, how it could be fun, but it was late and John was exceptionally tired, and he longed to retreat to bed. Sherlock finally gave up and left, shooting one last pout at John, and quickly ran down the stairs.

John stood by the window watched his tall, odd friend get into Lestrade's car, and couldn't help feeling a bit down. He didn't know why he felt that way, after all, it was him who had decided not to go. John wondered if his age was catching up to him.

It was a little past twelve when John finally went to sleep. He knew he'd find Sherlock back in their apartment tomorrow morning, yet it felt wrong, knowing that he was completely alone in their shared flat, the absence of his best friend surrounding him.

He eventually went to sleep, even though it took quite a bit of tossing and turning. And he slept quite comfortably, the exhaustion of the whole week catching up to him.

It wasn't until he heard quiet shuffling of feet, and felt a short yank at his covers and arms sliding around his hips that he woke up. John's eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness, his mind telling him to go back to sleep, which he was about to do, until he realized that the Sherlock that was hugging him felt really cold.

He shivered.

"Did it happen again?" John asked into the darkness, and as usual, received no reply.

He sighed, and tried again, "How was the case?"

And yet again, he received no reply, which was a common dilemma, so John decided to go back to sleep. Backing up to the figure behind him, he froze. Sherlock had either turned short and muscular, or this person behind him —

"Dr. John Watson, it's a pleasure to be so intimate with you again."

John yelped throwing his covers off and attempting to jump out of bed, only trapped by the cold, muscular thighs that held him in place. He quickly reached for his bedside table lamp, finding it's switch and slamming it on, all the while fighting to free his legs.

Soft light illuminated the familiar pale skin, dark empty eyes and even darker straight hair of the man that once strapped a bomb to his chest. Moriarty grinned at him, which sent malice running through John's veins, and John struggled to resist the urge to chin him.

"Tut-tut, I wouldn't do that if I were you," Moriarty said, his drawl making John scowl even harder, at which Moriarty's grin brightened.

"And here I thought you'd be pleased to see me!" He cried, faking a sniff.

"What do you want?" John asked through his teeth, trying to calm himself down, as he had learnt in war that panicking would get you nowhere. He had to be calm; and maybe then he would be able to come out of this alive.

"Didn't I make it obvious? I mean I was only getting comfortable when you decided to rudely interrupt us."

"...What?"

"It's elementary, my dear Watson!" Moriarty said, mimicking Sherlock's tone of excitement, which made John want to chin him harder. A kick or two wouldn't be too bad either.

Seeing John's quiet seething, Moriarty sighed.

"In short, I want to cuddle too."

"Fuck off, Moriarty."

"Please, call me Jim."

"Alright, fuck off, Jim."

Jim Moriarty giggled, as if he found the whole exchange funny. John found it everything but funny. His frown deepened, but Moriarty could care less as he lay down on the bed again, yawning.

"I really do like your bed, Johnny. It smells so... manly. I suppose that's why Sherlock likes it too."

"For the last time, I'm telling you to get out of my flat."

Moriarty pouted. "That's not how you treat someone in bed."

"You really think this is going to work?"

"What is going to work?"

"THIS! You and Sherlock dragging me back again into your stupid game which has cost many innocent lives —"

"This isn't a part of our game, Johnny. I liked the way you wrapped yourself around me that day at the pool, really got me hard. I'd just like to properly try again!" Moriarty said cheerfully.

"Oh, fuck me."

"With pleasure."

John looked at him in disgust, and made his way to wrench his legs free from Moriarty's.

"Ugh, Daddy is definitely losing patience. If Johnny boy does not wrap his arms around me and play with my hair right now, I'll order the people he's chasing after currently to kill him. How does that sound?"

John could feel himself panicking again. "It's — You just made that up. Sherlock's on a case with Greg."

"And who do you think gave him the case? Gosh, Doctor, you really are slow," Moriarty said, rolling his eyes, his movements almost child like.

John was quiet. "Oh, and don't you even think about reaching for your gun, I had that and every other object which could be used as a weapon removed from this 'flat'." (John swore under his breath, feeling bad for blaming Sherlock for playing with and losing his gun.) "Takes all the fun out of intimacy, if one of us is trying to kill the other."

"You threatened to kill my friend."

"Yes, but he isn't here for our moment, so it doesn't count."

John sighed, trying again to think up of a way to get out of this, but failing to find a solution. He looked up to meet Moriarty's eyes again.

"Just a hug?" He asked suspiciously.

"Yes, along with all the other romantic things you do with Sherl."

"Th-That's platonic."

"Oh it better be, or I'd go insane with jealousy!" Moriarty said, laughing. John wanted to say that he thought Moriarty was already insane, but decided not to. He sighed, and lay down next to Moriarty. 

"If you'd let go of my leg now, that would be great."

"Promise not to leave?"

"You'd kill Sherlock if I did."

"Ah. I really do envy the way you care about him, it would be nice if it were for me."

"You strapped a bomb to my chest."

"Point taken, but you didn't die, did you?"

Moriarty was already in John arms, cooing softly on his chest, pushing one of his thighs in between John's legs ("Oi!") and wrapping his arms around John's back, his fingers toying with John's shirt.

"Moriarty -"

"Jim."

"Jim. When do we stop this?"

"Stop what?"

"The, uh, cuddling."

"Well there's a saying among normal people that cuddling stops only when sex begins, and you consider yourself to be one of those normal people, don't you?"

"I'll stick to the cuddling, thanks."

John breathed in Moriarty's unfamiliar shampoo, his smooth hair rested against John's lips, completely different from the curls John had grown to love so much. Moriarty had completely latched himself on to John, not leaving much space in between their bodies. "You're so warm! See? Together we maintain the perfect equilibrium," Moriarty said, giggling, and John cursed himself for finding it even the least bit endearing. He tried to focus on ways to benefit from this (Choking Moriarty in his sleep? Bashing his skull in?) but realized that it would be futile to even try. 

So he sighed, holding his arch-nemesis ("Sherlock's arch-nemesis. For you, I could be anyone you want me to be!") in his arms, trying to forget their closeness. Moriarty's thigh was still dangerously close to John's groin, but John could care less. He closed his eyes and hoped that in the morning, this would turn out to be another one of those nightmares. And once again the exhaustion caught up to John, and the comfort he felt at this moment caused him to completely let his guard down, and he fell asleep in a few minutes, holding onto Jim Moriarty. 

-

John woke up next morning, expecting to find an empty bed, and hoping to find Sherlock on it.

Instead he found that he had a numb arm, and Jim Moriarty, staring mischievously up at him.

"Sleep well, doctor?"

Watson was frustrated to admit that he, indeed, had.


End file.
